


a sweet tooth or a cavity?

by BreadAndDough



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description of Corpses, Plot Twists, Unreliable Narrator, fair warning: this may or may not hurt, if this can even be considered fluff, no beta we die like george in manhunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreadAndDough/pseuds/BreadAndDough
Summary: Just a nice, completely and entirely normal dinner between roommates. Though, Dream does wish George would talk a bit more.OR: This sounds sweet, but trust me, it’s not. We don’t serve fluff here, only angst.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35
Collections: The Hall™





	a sweet tooth or a cavity?

**Author's Note:**

> As always, **If either Dream or George say or hint at the fact that they do not like fanfiction written about them, this fic will be promptly sniped out of existence.**

_ C418 - Chirp _

_ Oh, _ Dream thinks.  _ This is a nice song. _

Sweet music echoes through the house like a memory, warm and  _ distracting. _ If there’s ever anything important to focus on, it’ll only be veiled by hazy thoughts and happy connotations -a perfect little reality. Just how it’s supposed to be.

Dream welcomes the fuzzy feeling with open arms. It clouds his eyes so he can politely pretend the spill on the floor is simply wine, and it lets him dance across the room without worry for the smell of rice burning on the stove. For all the music cares, there’s nothing but him happily making dinner in the kitchen, and George silently waiting at the dining table.

Fearful thoughts become sugar-coated, and instead, pretty words fall out of his mouth with ease. He wishes George would sing too, but lately he’s been awfully quiet. It’s like all he’s been able to do in the last few hours is lay on the living room couch and blankly stare at the ceiling. It had become unnerving, so Dream put on a happy tune, and convinced George to eat with him. He had to practically drag George up and to the table for it.

Dream continues slicing mushrooms, adding them slice by slice into the pan. The loud sound of sizzling brings a sense of unease, though he can’t exactly pinpoint why -maybe it’s another one of those weird auditory processing things. Whatever it is goes away once he replaces the pan’s lid anyways, probably not much to worry about. 

“Don’t you like this song, Georgie,” He asks, peeking out of the kitchen. George just continues staring into space, eyes void of anything but emptiness. They hold a strange feeling in them -like he’s long lost the meaning of life. Maybe there’s something wrong.

The song picks up in beat, and Dream decides to take the silence as a yes.

He likes the moments of calmness between them, the one where they can just sit and hang out without feeling the need to force conversation. Maybe he likes it a bit less than he enjoys talking, but the point still stands. The thing about this type of silence though, it’s just…  _ all wrong. _ Dream feels like he said, or maybe  _ did _ something that he wasn’t supposed to- he just can’t quite put his finger on  _ what. _ Hopefully he can figure it out soon and apologize for it, though. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to see George smile again.

Instead of panicking, he lets the sound of the little jukebox in the corner whisk those thoughts away, filling him right back up with the naive calmness that always gets induced with piano music. It makes him want to spin around around in circles, acting as if he were on some dancing talent show. But he’d much rather not slip and fall on the wet tile. It’s kind of funny though, Dream doesn’t remember spilling anything.

Using tongs to flip the chicken one last time, and a wooden spoon to mix in the last ingredient, Dream is almost done. All that’s left is to let the sauce cool, and get the bowls out-- something George usually does, though, he’s probably not feeling up for it, so Dream takes the bowls out for him. And finally, after it’s all plated, his Mom’s famous mushroom chicken will be completed. 

Learning how to make it had been Dream’s greatest cooking accomplishment when he was younger. To be honest, it’s not like there’s a long list of achievements to choose from. Dream  _ has _ always prided himself on his ability with a chef’s knife, though. 

He grabs the bowls of rice and makes his way to the dining room (really just a corner of their ‘ _ too big’ _ living room). Setting one in front of George, and the other one opposite of him, Dream feels a sense of accomplishment. “Well? Are you ready?”

The question, once again, goes unanswered.

It’s weird.. George usually loves this dish, doesn’t he? It’s the whole reason Dream made it in the first place, because… What happened again? He only ever cooks it when something is wrong, but what exactly happened.. It’s not normal for people to forget these things, is it?

The song loops, going back to the beginning and starting over. A hazy smile overtakes Dream’s face once again, as if it were drawn on a mask and  forcefully plastered there to stay forever. Any doubtful or anxiety filled thoughts fade into the background, once again replaced with  ~~ synthetic ~~ happiness. Everything’s  ~~ not ~~ going to be okay. It’ll  ~~ never ~~ be okay.  _ As long as this song is playing. _

“It’s okay, Georgie. Take your time, there’s no rush,” he says, moving to sit down at the other side of the table. It’s a slow meal, once following that of grace and  fear tactfulness. He doesn’t seem to notice the burnt taste of the rice. Why is that, exactly?

At once, he sees red sauce leaking out of George’s mouth and down the side of his chin. The fact that none of the food was red doesn’t seem to feel very important as he politely wipes it off, tossing the napkin onto the floor with all of the other red-stained ones. 

“You know, I think I like this new table we got,” he tries again to strike up any sort of conversation. “It’s a bit wobbly though. And maybe a little shorter than I thought it would be, but I guess you wouldn’t be able to reach your food if it were any taller.”

When George still doesn’t show any sign of acknowledgement, Dream sighs.  _ It’s weird, right? _ George  _ always _ pipes up at the chance to defend his height -even if they’re in the biggest fight of their lives. It’s like their own, unspoken, middle-ground of topics to lighten the tension. Well, that among that one video game (that for  _ some reason, _ Dream can’t manage to remember the name of). 

All of a sudden, the power goes out. Lights fade away, minus the midday sunlight coming from the few open window curtains, the monotonous noise from the kitchen fan ceases to be, whirring air conditioners attempt at cooling down the home disappear, and most importantly,  _ the music stops playing. _

It leaves a sickeningly sweet taste in his mouth. He feels like he’s been gurgling cotton candy mouthwash for the past six hours, just trying to get his teeth to feel closer and closer to a sugar crash.

He takes a look around, trying to decipher what in the actual hell happened. Everything is just..  _ off; _ the air is freezing, his hands feel tingly, and his head feels like it’s been on a few dozen rollercoasters. And that’s not to mention the sheer amount of red and brown covering the floor -a mockery of the used up towels just to the side of it. 

He…  _ apparently  _ got to the dinner table at some point in time with-

“...George?” 

The british man’s face is blue, empty,  _ lifeless. _ Not a speck of consciousness, nothing to hint at this being some kind of joke, no sort of confusion from ending up in this situation. There’s just--  _ nothing. _

“George..?! George! Are you- Hey, are you ali- okay! _?” _

How did his arm get bent like that?? And when did his neck start to look so- so--  _ not neck-like? _ Dream feels weak, malleable as a piece of pathetic multicolored clay, and mixed like a child would do to their newest play-doh set. 

How did.. What in the  _ fuck  _ happe-

Lights come back on. Air conditioning restarts.  _ Music plays. _

  
  


_ Chirp - C418 _

  
  
_ Oh, _ Dream thinks.  _ This is a nice song. _

**Author's Note:**

> I chose chirp for the song because in my opinion, it sounds happy and sweet, but the beginning feels strange -kind of like there's something weird going on under the surface. So because of that one thought, this happened lmao


End file.
